


The Problem

by runoutofwit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runoutofwit/pseuds/runoutofwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finally decides that enough is enough. He needs to tell Castiel how he feels. Things don't go the way he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem

"You should just tell him! Anyone who's ever seen you two together can tell that obviously likes you. I mean, the guy follows you around like a-"  
  


"Yeah, yeah, Sammy. I get it. Can we please stop talking like a couple o' chicks now? Seriously, dude. You're embarrassing," Dean huffed, leaning back in the small metal chair.  
  


Sam sighed and shook his head. "I'm just trying to help. You asked-"  
  


"I know what I asked!" his brother snapped back. After a moment, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This wasn’t Sam's fault. "I just... It's hard to talk about, y'know?"  
  


The younger Winchester gave his brother his best 'I’m here for you, man. Let's just share our feelings and cry it out, then end it in a super gay hugfest' look. Dean took the brief moment of silence that passed between them to contemplate why he'd thought it a good idea to tell his brother about his Problem in the first place. It was probably because his first way of dealing with it had completely backfired. The hunter's initial response to the Problem was to ignore it and drink it to death. It was the same way he death with all of his problems. However, this method hadn't worked quite as he'd hoped.  
  


Instead of forgetting about the Problem, he ended up thinking about it more. One drink, and he'd start thinking about the mannerisms: the gentle tilt of the head, the awkward way of speaking, the complete and utter lack of social skills, the knitting of the dark eyebrows whenever Dean made a pop culture reference. The second drink brought Dean's thoughts to those inhumanly blue eyes and all the emotions they could display. A third drink made things more intimate. He'd find himself wondering about those lips, which looked so soft, and he'd admire the perfect curvatures of the face. After the fourth drink, he always had to stop. That was when he'd begin to imagine the slope of the shoulders, the muscle hidden beneath soft skin, the perfectly narrow hips--  
  


He had to stop. By this point in his nightly ritual, he'd be drunk, and he'd begin to flirt and pick up women. In an attempt to rid himself of the exciting and erotic thoughts in his head, he'd try to morph them to fit whatever girl he was with. He'd try to take her in the bathroom, the alley, the Impala, anywhere, but it ended the same. She'd begin to take off her clothes, using a method that would have excited him a few months ago. After, she'd slip her hands into his waistband, teasing, searching, and find that he was limp. There was absolutely zero arousal there. He'd awkwardly apologize, but she'd try to work him into a frenzy, anyway. Despite both their hopes, it was never successful, because the whole time he'd be thinking, _'You're not what I want.'_

 

This had happened every night for the last week-and-a-half. The Problem itself had not reared its head in that time, which was probably good. With all of Dean's current sexual frustrations, he was damn sure anything could happen. However, last night, Dean had been exceptionally intoxicated. When he'd returned to the motel room, Sam only had to ask a few questions before Dean simply told him everything (in detail that the younger man never wanted to hear from his brother again). Before anything more could be discussed, the drunken one passed out, waking up the next morning to some embarrassingly sticky sheets.  
  


With how all this was going, Dean was almost ready to swear off drinking forever.  
  


"I'm going to leave. While I'm gone, just call him, okay? If you just tell him, everything will be a lot better. Your liver will be happier, too."  
  


Dean was pulled from his thoughts by his brother standing, grabbing the keys to the car. The older one shook his head wildly and his green eyes widened with panic.  
  


"What do you think you're doing with my baby?" he asked urgently, sitting up straight in his seat.  
  


Already half out of the motel room, the floppy-haired brunette simply smirked. "Making sure you don't try to drive away. Good luck."  
  


The door shut, cutting off Dean's angry cries of "Sammy!" Left in silence, the man was also left to fume for a few minutes. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling for a moment as he tried to muster up the courage to call. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this! He was Dean motherfucking Winchester! He never tackled issues head-on; he ignored them until they disappeared or exploded! It was practically a family tradition! Actually dealing with his problems would be damn near blasphemous. It would break his pattern of self-destructive behavior!  
  


However, that really wasn't the big issue. The big Problem was that this Problem wasn't of the female variety--or even human! No, it was male and celestial, and Dean kept having lustful thoughts about it. What made it even worse was that every time the Problem came around, he'd get a light, tingling sensation in his chest and stupidly happy and protective, and all he wanted to do was make the Problem smile and do that dumb cocking of the head and then those eyes would brighten, and Dean would think 'I just want to kiss you.'  
  


But he couldn't do any of that, because he was Dean Winchester: Ladykiller. He was straight, straight as a board; he'd had enough enjoyable sex with women to prove that! But he'd never felt such an overwhelming desire to shelter, soothe, and make happy. He'd never felt like this with any woman.  
  


_Deep breath._   
  


"Uh, hey, Cas. It's, uh, it's me. Could you come down here? I have something important to talk to you about," he began, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. When he continued, however, his voice quivered slightly with anxiety. "B-but no rush! It's not, it's not that important. Just take your time, you know, if you're doing other things."  
  


"I'm here."  
  


The deep voice behind him caused Dean to violently jump. Surprised, he turned around, looking more scared than irritated. "Dammit, Cas! Always from behind!"  
  


Fuck. There it was. The angel's eyes narrowed slightly, his brows coming together. Tiny muscles in his cheeks and forehead twitched, conveying his confusion. Of course, now that Dean realized what he'd just said, his face turned pink.  
  


"Y-y-y'know, you always come behind--I mean, you show up behind! You show up behind me and it freaks me out!" the hunter fumbled, trying desperately to create coherent sentences. He ended with a short, more than awkward laugh, causing Castiel to intensify his gaze.  
  


"I apologize for startling you. Why did you summon me?" he asked, obviously unfazed.

 

Okay. He just had to spit it out. Once he spit it out, it would be over. Everything would be fine, just like Sam had said. Dean just had to actually say it!  
  


"What? Can't a guy call up a friend just to say 'howdy?' Why does there haves to be a reason?" he asked defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
  


Quizzical, Castiel took a step forward, beginning to encroach on his charge's personal space. At this distance, Dean could catch a whiff of the other. The angel seemed to have some sort of high-end cologne scent constantly wafting off of I'm. He wondered if it was just an angel thing. After all, there was no way that Cas was actually spritzing himself down with Clive Christian every morning. It had to be natural.  
  


"Dean, did you hear me? Are you feeling well?"  
  


The young man was jolted from his reverie. He'd briefly forgotten that he and his friend had been having a conversation at all. Aware once more, he quickly realized that his eyes were resting on the other's stomach and slowly working down.  
  


"Oh, what?" he asked, back to attention. "Sorry. I didn't catch that."  
  


"You asked me to come down here, because you said there was something important you needed to tell me. What was it?"  
  


Dean was silent for a moment. The humor drained from his face. It was now or never. If he didn't say it now, Cas would disappear, and the moment would be gone. It would be weeks before Sam could convince his brother to try again, and in the meantime, he'd have to find more dangerous ways to distract himself.  
  


"I don't..." Sigh. "I'm not really sure..." Sigh. Deep breath.  
  


Face filled with concern, the angel took another step forward. The two were left with mere inches between them. The other's scent was flooding the hunter's nose, and he could see the dark eyelashes and soft stubble of the ma's jaw quite clearly. It took all of his strength not to just grab Cas and throw him on the bed right now. How he wished he could blame that idea on alcohol!  
  


"Dean, what is wrong?"  
  


The voice reverberated down the mortal's spine. It was so full of worry, care, and kindness that he was finally able to say the words.  
  


"I like you, Cas."  
  


The angel's face didn't change. "I enjoy your company as well, Dean. We are friends, after all. However, I fail to see-"  
  


"Not like that, Cas. Like... I like you the same way I like women," he attempted to explain, sounding both exasperated and even slightly scared. "And it freaks me the hell out because I've never felt this way about a dude before. I've never felt this way about _anyone_ before. When I look at you, I don't think, like, 'he's smoking' hot'--b-but I do think that, too! I just, I also really like you... I think you're a pretty cool person in general, and I get this, this stupid feeling in my chest and it's all just sort of ridiculous. B-but anyway, I was just pretty sure that you felt the same way, so I decided that I'd tell you, in case, y'know..."  
  


The more Dean talked, the redder his face became. He finally decided that he couldn't let his face get any hotter and simply let his words drift off. He didn't know what to add, anyway. Staring intently at the other man, Dean unconsciously held his breath. The fluttering in his chest was going like crazy. This was a terrible idea. Who thought this would end well? How could he ever expect a frigging Angel of the Lord to feel the same? He should've just kept his mouth shut.  
  


That feeling was solidified when the blue-eyed creature stepped back, taking every ounce of Dean's hope with him. The angel's lips pulled into a frown, his countenance almost pitying. "I apologize, Dean, but I do not return your favor," Castiel said slowly, gently, as if afraid that his words might hurt the human.  
  


That sentence should have served as a crushing, fatal blow. Instead of being defeated, the hunter appeared to be outraged.  
  


"What? What are you talking about?" he demanded, voice rising so that he was almost yelling. "You don't 'return my favor?' If that's true, then you've been doing a hell of a good job leading everyone on."  
  


The angel sighed, shaking his head. He tried to explain, calmly, saying, "Dean, there is no need for-"  
  


The hunter quickly interrupted, determined to make his point  "Wha-what about the, the 'profound bond' or the rescuing me all the time or-"  
  


"Please, Dean, just-"  
  


"-helping me out when you have much bigger things that you should be doing?"  
  


"Dean, if youd just-"  
  


"Coming every time I call, no matter what is going on? Hell, you even told an archangel that you were ready to stand against Heaven to help Sammy and me!"  
  


"Yes, Dean, because you are my friends." The young man was taken aback by the sharp tone used by the angel. All patience was gone, replaced by irritation and barely bridled rage. "I protect you and keep you safe because you and Sam are my friends. The two of you helped me experience human emotion, and I was able to stand against everything I had been raised on because you were my first true friends. That is all."  
  


Shaking his head, Dean's green eyes went to the ceiling. A harsh, barking laugh left his lips. "Oh, right! That's why you ignored Sam's prayers for a year, and then respond before I got five words into my first one in a year. Yeah, sounds like Sam and I are pretty even in your book." Cas opened his mouth as if to reply, but Dean cut him off. "He can see it to, you know. He was the one that said I should tell you since he was so confident you felt the same! Even Balthatzar has mentioned a few times how he thinks you're in love with me!"  
  


"This wouldn't be the first time they were wrong," hissed the angel. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, pure anger burning in the sharp azure hues of his eyes. "I fought through Hell, _literally_ , to save your life. I _raised_ you from Perdition. So, yes, I may feel a stronger bond with you than I do your brother, Dean, but that is because you are my _charge_. You are nothing more than that. I am not attracted to you in any physical or mental way. That would be an abomination."  
  


The words hung in the air. Everything was silent for a moment with the exception of both men's heavy breathing.  
  


After a moment, Dean rebutted, "I think the lady doth protest too much."  
  


Silence again. Castiel looked somewhat shaken, briefly expressing something that made Dean think that the angel really was just lying this whole time, that all this rejection was just a clever ploy. However, it must've just been shock that Dean could quote Shakespeare, because then the celestial being gave him that look. It was a look the hunter had only seen once, and that had been enough. It sent shivers down his spine. It was the same expression Cas had worn when he'd come back from Angel Rehab. 'I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you.' The words were suddenly ringing loudly in his ears.  
  


"If you are finished spewing blasphemies, I have work to attend to," he growled icily. "You are only my charge, Dean, and my friend. Don't dare to think of me as anything more."  
  


A quiet rush of wings and the angel was gone. Alone, the mortal ran a hand through his short hair. He paced the small room for a moment, then found himself kicking down the motel dining set. His frustrations were quickly focused on one of the chairs, and he was yelling and cursing. When he had finally worn himself out, the hunter stood panting, gritting his teeth, and wondering what to do next. Without a thought, he left the motel room. The door slammed unnecessarily violently behind him. He needed a drink and he'd be damned if he didn't get laid tonight. He wasn't about to acknowledge the sharp pain in his chest or the raspy, choked feeling or the burning of his eyes. No. He was going to get shit-faced and fuck, and forget all about this.  
  


Problem fucking solved.  
  


Meanwhile, Castiel had taken himself somewhere completely secluded. He stood in a field of tall grasses and wild flowers. The overcast sky only allowed a few rays of sun to grace the earth, leaving most of the terrain shaded. All he needed was some privacy, and no one should be able to find him here. Here, he could spend a few minutes sorting out his thoughts.  
  


All the anger that he had shown was now gone. He was left only weary and upset. Everything he had said had been a complete and absolute lie. He'd been thinking about Dean as more than a friend for the better part of two years. In the brief respites where his mind could wander, his thoughts would mostly consist of those mossy eyes and the freckles scattered across the hunter's face. He'd think about holding him, comforting him, and doing those things he'd seen on the television.  
  


But he couldn't do that. And it wasn't because his Father forbade it (He didn't) or because he only saw Dean as his inferior charge (certainly, he didn't think that), but it was rather because the angel was terrified. He'd only felt true human emotions for a small portion of his life. This feeling of attraction and affection was novel, and he didn't know what to do with it.  
  


He refused to call it love, for how could he? How could a creature that had only experienced a small fraction of all the feelings processable by the hum even attempt to say it feels something as strong as love? The only love that he could truly say he'd ever felt was love for God, but that was much different. That was admiration, devotion, loyalty, and faith. His feelings for Dean Winchester were rooted in something different.  
  


However, the angel still didn't know what to do with it. When he'd somewhat identified the emotion several months ago, Castiel had been quite happy to simply be in Dean's presence. He'd take the opportunity to study the other's face, memorize the details of his body, note with a sense of grim mortality the new scars, and all the different quirks and characteristics that Cas didn't quite fully appreciate or understand. That had been enough. He was content to admire from afar.  
  


But he had never expected Dean to feel the same, let alone confess to it.  
With this new insight, he knew that he couldn't let anything happen between them. If that meant severing all ties of friendship, so be it. Cas had no idea how to handle any of this, and even if he did, he was sure he'd still reject the human. He tried to rationalize it by telling himself that even if a romantic relationship could exist, it'd be only for a brief moment. The angel had lived for millennia. If he and Dean were to become anything, it would last for barely the blink of the eye. He could only pull the hunter up from Hell or down from Heaven so many times before the angel got killed in the process. Not to mention that aging was inevitable. Cas' vessel would remain as it was for eternity, assuming he continued to use it, but Dean's body would always age and eventually it wouldn't be worth putting a soul back into it.  
  


The thought of Dean dying was crippling. The idea that the process would be slow, agonizing, and unstoppable was unbearable.  
  


Castiel told himself that was why he could never tell Dean; if they were in that kind of relationship, it would make the human's death even more terrible. However, he refused to admit to the truth of the matter. Yes, he was scared of the hunter dying, but there was one thing that terrified him even more. Perhaps he and Dean would be able to work through the confusion. Perhaps being with Dean would be so good that he would be able to handle the inevitable end. But the root of the matter was that Dean was human. Like all humans, his emotions could be fleeting. He might confess to liking the angel today, but a week from now or even tomorrow he could say with true honesty that he hated him. Human emotions, especially the idea of love, often never lasted. And if Cas, who felt so strongly for Dean that it sometimes hurt, was ever betrayed by that same person, it might destroy him. It was one thing to lose his Father. If he was left by the only other person to whom he had given his undying trust...  
  


Dean would forget about him, one day. Human fancy would make sure of that. He'd find happiness. He'd find a woman, perhaps another hunter, to be with until he died. Maybe one day, Cas would also forget the human, as well. Maybe one day he'd forget the shades of green in the hunter's eyes or the perfect placement of every freckle or the contours of his face or the shape of his smile or the texture of his skin or the sound of his laugh or his jokes that always went over Cas' head or his inherent need to protect and save everyone or his self-loathing or his devotion to family or his soft spot for children or how he tried to hide his vulnerability under a veil or arrogance and humor or how, underneath it all, he was the most kind and righteous person Castiel had ever known.  
  


Deep down, he knew Dean would forget him.  
  


But deep down, Castiel knew he'd never forget Dean.


End file.
